


The Faux Beau

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arthur Dies in Book Five, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fred Doesn't Die All Weasley Children Are Well, I AM SORRY?, I can't help it, I'm Sorry It Was The Only Way, Mentions of Mourning Spouse, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Rare Pairings, Someone Will Likely Deeply Dislike This Pairing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Weasleys Witches & Writers With Love Weasley Fest 2021, Widow!Molly Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: Four years have passed since Arthur Weasley's untimely death, and Molly's children insist she starts dating. In an effort to appease them, she propositions an unlikely candidate to be her, well, faux beau.
Relationships: Severus Snape/Molly Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29
Collections: With Love Weasley





	The Faux Beau

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [With_Love_Weasley](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/With_Love_Weasley) collection. 



> This piece was written for the Weasleys Witches & Writers With Love Weasley Fest 2021.
> 
> Many thanks to my lovely beta [adavison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/profile)\--you never cease to amaze me. Many thanks to [Zorak23](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zorak23/profile) for helping me throw some ideas around!
> 
> **Prompt:**  
>  Fake Date to a Valentines Day party
> 
> Content Warning: As this is a fic in which Molly suffers to loss of Arthur, there are brief moments where she is mourning and dealing with grief.

Molly Weasley sat at her kitchen table while her children bustled around. It was weird for her, if she were being honest, to just be sitting there. Bill and Ron, her tallest two, were stringing up lights in the garden. Charlie was handling the garden gnomes. Percy was helping Ginny move things around the living room to make room for the Christmas tree. The twins, well, the twins were shockingly talented in the kitchen and were cooking. Once a month, her children made a point to all come together, without their partners, without their children, and spend a Sunday afternoon at The Burrow. Just the eight of them. 

With it being near Christmas, it wasn’t surprising that they took it upon themselves to decorate and clean and cook. She smiled to herself, feeling grateful for them, albeit a bit lost without something to do. Each child turned down her efforts to help out, and so she just sat and admired them. Her brood. How proud Arthur would be of them all. 

With the thought of her late husband, she sighed—sometimes she’d go for days without it hurting, sometimes she’d go weeks, and, as the years moved forward, she’d sometimes go months. It was always harder around the holidays. Now that they were on the cusp of Christmas, Molly knew that her bustling house would quiet down in a few weeks, and, with relief as well as sadness, she looked forward to that moment when she could go back to days where she wouldn't see Arthur in every ornament, hear him in every song, or long for him with each bite of Christmas pudding. 

Today, however, despite being reminded in so many ways of him, she was distracted by her children. They were up to something; her children had a mission. She knew. She was no fool. She had grown and birthed, nursed and bathed, fussed at and fed, and loved each and every one of them. It was easy to figure them out, to pick up on the looks they gave each other and their hushed conversations. 

She was simply waiting for whatever it was to reveal itself. 

Once the house was decorated and everyone was fed, the table cleared and the kitchen cleaned, Ginny, her darling girl, took her hand in hers and squeezed, "Mum, we…well, we think you need to start dating."

Molly stared at her daughter for a moment and then laughed, shaking her head as she began to speak, but before she could she Percy chimed in, "We are serious. We know no one could be Dad, but, Mum, you deserve to have some fun, to go out and meet someone new, to try some restaurants, to see a film, to just enjoy yourself as you, not Mum or Grandmum. You know?"

She narrowed her eyes at her children, but before she could say anything in reply, each one had something they wanted to say about how she needed it or deserved it or some rubbish. Finally, Ginny spoke again. "We have a plan. There are several men we think you'd like. We have a list…"

"No." Molly finally said. 

All seven eyes widened at her stern, sharp word. "If I do this, it'll be on my own terms."

"Mum... you won't. You're having one on us. We're not daft," Fred said, nudging George. "Right?"

George nodded, "Yeah. Come on. You're just trying to get us off your back."

Molly protested and the twins bickered right back at her. Finally, breaking up the futile conversation, Bill cleared his throat. "How about this? If you haven’t gone on a date by, let's say, the Ministry Valentine's Party, then you let  _ me _ set you up on a date. Just one date." 

Her lips twitched in thought as she listened to her eldest. He was smart, too smart. If she were to allow one of her children to set her up on a date, it would be him. If she were to pick which child knew her the best, which child understood her, it would be Bill. The baby who made her and Arthur finally parents. The boy who taught her so much and had become the man who took care of everything when Arthur died, who held their family together. Again, her lips twitched, he knew she would agree to his proposition.

She nodded slightly. "Deal. Now. No more about this. No asking me about it. Nothing. Alright?"

They all nodded, all of them looking particularly pleased.

Later that evening, in the silence of her home, apart from the purring of her cat, Alfie, curled up next to her hip, she thought over the conversation. She sighed and reached out a hand absently, scratching Alfie's head. "What am I to do about all this?"

—-

Severus Snape had been staring at a potion simmering in a cauldron for next to half an hour. He was waiting for it to turn a lush sapphire colour. Certain that it would have changed by now, he resigned himself to the fact that he must have done something wrong. With a flick of his wand, he had just vanished the contents, when there was a knock at his office door. 

Instead of inquiring who it was, he simply flicked his wand again, letting the door open itself. He glanced up and saw Minerva. Behind her stood Fillius and Remus and Aurora. He groaned inwardly and outwardly. 

"What could the four of you possibly want?" His voice was slow and seemed to drag out each word, like a boulder being pushed slowly up a hill. 

Conjuring chairs, Minerva sat, motioning for her colleagues to as well. 

“Out with it, dammit. I’ve got shit to do.”

“Always so pleasant…” began the older woman. She glanced at Remus, as if unsure how to proceed.

Remus spoke, “Severus, you...you need to get out. You’re down here in the dungeons all the time. Alone.”

“I want to be alone,” he quickly snapped.

“No, you don’t. No one wants to be alone. I get it. I’m a werewolf.  _ A werewolf _ . I’m happy now. I’ve got Dora and Teddy and things are grand. Life is good. The war is over. It’s been over. You’re free from everything.”

“Everything but yourself, young man,” Minerva added. “You’ve trapped yourself down here wallowing in all sorts of pity. It’s absurd.” 

Aurora cleared her throat, he turned to her, shocked most of all that she would be here. He respected her as a witch and a professor quite a lot, “You deserve to enjoy your time now that the war is over. Now that you can be yourself without...Voldemort or Dumbledore. We all think you should start dating.”

“Dating? Who the fuck is going to date me? Have you seen me?”

Aurora nodded, “Yes. You look a lot healthier than you did for many years. You’re intelligent. You’re funny in a sardonic way. You’re a war hero. I’m sure you’d enjoy some companionship.”

He let out a snort and fiddled with the papers on his desk. “Not really.” 

Under his breath, Remus muttered, “Liar,” and Severus glared at him.

Fillius then spoke, his high-pitched voice laced with tenderness, “There are charms I can do. Matchmaking…”

“No. Stop. I’ll get out. Okay? I’ll go get pissed at Hog’s Head and shag some random person. Alright? Just get out of my office.” He glanced at the four of them, all too aware that they were well-intentioned but he was still irritated. He let out a sigh and rolled his eyes, “Please. Leave my office. I have things to do.” 

His colleagues began to leave, but Remus remained seated. As Aurora turned at the door and gave Severus a soft smile, Remus leaned forward, “Seriously. Consider it. You’re not the monster you think you are. Take it from me. A literal monster.” The sandy-grey haired man winked and stood up before leaving him alone in his office. 

—

In the aftermath of the war, the members of The Order of the Phoenix decided to maintain their meetings. At first, it was a way to check-in with everyone, but then it slowly turned into a social gathering of sorts, one you were simply expected to go to, and Molly always enjoyed them. She was happy to see everyone together, smiling and laughing, filled with food and special drinks. 

At the New Year’s party, she was struck with it—the solution to her dating issue: A fake date. A faux beau, so to speak. 

She was certain she could find someone, she just simply hadn’t thought it would be so easy. 

It had been her turn to host the event, and she was sitting in her kitchen waiting on tea to brew. The tea would be a cure to her inevitable hangover the next morning because even though her buzz had worn off, she knew, just knew, that all the champagne she had would lead throbbing headache in the morning. 

Stepping into her kitchen, were the last of the guests, Severus Snape, and Remus and Nymphadora Lupin. The young couple, she suspected, were milking their evening away from the tedious life of parenting a wild toddler. Severus, however, she hadn’t expected to still be here. 

Remus and Tonks embraced Molly, thanking her for the evening. Before turning to apparate, Remus pointed a finger at Severus. “Think about what I said. Really. You’re not a bad bloke.” 

Tonks peaked from behind her husband, her head resting on his shoulder lovingly, and in a giggly, alcohol-infused voice she agreed, “Yeah. We like you, Sev. Look if you can’t find someone, you can just join me and Moony, eh?” She reached down, and Molly saw her teasingly slap Remus on his arse. 

Remus laughed and rolled his eyes, and Severus looked pained at the conversation. 

Once the couple had gone Severus sighed and looked at Molly, “I apologise for being here so late. Thank you for hosting.” He turned, obviously about to leave, but she stopped him by speaking.    
  


“What were those two lovebirds on about?”

He looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet, he seemed, Molly thought, to be a bit embarrassed. Shrugging he said in a bored tone, “They and Minerva think I need to get out more or something. Meet someone. It’s preposterous.”

She hadn’t meant it to seem cruel but Molly ripped into laughter, and the look of Severus’ face made her laugh harder. 

“That’s real peachy, Molly. You’re quite encouraging. Merlin.”

She lifted a hand to her lips, pressing her fingers against them and she shook her head, “No, no…” she breathed out, trying to calm herself.

“What then?”

“It’s just my children. They seem to have it in their heads that I need to date. It’s just funny to me. Two people in a similar situation. And, honestly, Severus, just tonight I…”

She took in a deep breath and eyed him curiously. He would do, she thought. He was a bit younger than her, yes. He wasn’t despised anymore, nor was he adored. There had been enough time since the war that the hype around Severus Snape The Hero had faded down. They could probably do this quietly, but efficiently enough to shut everyone up. Hmmmmm, yes. This might work better than she hoped. Her children, who respected Severus, probably wouldn’t expect all of them to hang out together as a family: their mum and her boyfriend. She sniggered again at the idea of her having a boyfriend, even a fake one. 

“You, what?” He asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, and she motioned for him to join her at the table. He did so, and she poured them both a cup of tea. 

“First,” she said, holding up one finger, “hear me out before you interject.” 

She paused waiting for his response but he didn’t speak he simply nodded in agreement. Good, she thought. “Alright. My children, all seven of the twits, think I need to date. If I have not been on a date by the Ministry Valentine’s Day party then my eldest will set me up with someone. I stupidly agreed to this to simply shut them up. I have no interest in dating. I presume, you, even if you are interested in dating, do not want to do it under the pressure and insistence of your colleagues and friends. Yes?”

He nodded again. 

“Good,” she said. “Then I propose we...fake date.”

“Fake date?” he asked her curiously.

“Don’t interrupt,” her voice was stern but teasing and she smirked as his eyebrows shot up at her assertiveness. 

“Yes. We pretend to be together up until a week or so after the dance, where we amicably split up. Thus, we have gotten out there, so to speak. Dated. Explored our romantic interests. Everyone can then leave us alone. They cannot say that we didn’t try. We can even say that our relationship was motivation to date again in the future or it was clear that we weren’t ready to date or whatever.” She flitted her hands in the air as she spoke, finally letting them rest upon her teacup, taking a small sip, waiting for his reply. 

He raised his hand, and she gave him a look of irritation. “Yes? You may speak now.”

“Thank you, Molly.” He grinned. “How does this....charade work exactly? How do we orchestrate it enough to make people believe it?”

She pursed her lips and looked around the kitchen thinking. “We allow ourselves to be seen in public once or twice until someone picks up on it and the news spread. You are an extremely private person, and, although my children love to be in the papers, I do not. We insist our relationship is between us and it is private. We spend time together so that, to my children and your friends, it appears legitimate, but really we’re just sharing a space while going about our own business. When we go to the party, we’ll probably need to act it up a bit: we hold hands and perhaps kiss once. After a week or so, it’s over. Charade is done.”

—-

Severus looked at the woman sitting across from him. For starters, who the fuck was he to say no to Molly Weasely of all people. She was warm and kind, but she was also terrifying. He’d always liked Molly— respected her and feared her, and that was long before she took out Bellatrix LeStrange. 

Even though he wasn’t going to say no, he also sort of liked the idea. It was very cunning for a Gryffindor and he couldn’t help but smirk at her as she explained her plan to him. 

He found himself a bit hung up on the bit where physical affection was involved, however. This wasn’t because of her. No, no, Molly Weasley was quite attractive. She was older than him, yes, but he didn’t give a good goddamn about that. She had large brown eyes that were warm, like a cup of creamed espresso, and her skin was soft and, again warm, like butter. 

In his efforts to describe her in his mind he kept coming back to the word warm. 

That was Molly. 

He thought that holding Molly’s hand, leaning down to brush her cheek with his lips, and perhaps even hugging her seemed delightful. His issue was more that there was no way she would want to hold his hand, kiss him, embrace him. Where Molly was soft and warm, he was hard and cold. She was like freshly whipped cream, and he was a hardened caramel that had been long forgotten on the stovetop. 

Finally, he nodded, “Okay.”

Her face brightened her smile wide. “You’ll do it, then?”

Again he nodded. “Sure. We can say that our illicit, lust-filled love affair began this evening.” His words were full with thick, well-intentioned sarcasm. 

Her shoulders rolled with laughter again, and he noticed a sprinkle of freckles across her chest. “Oh, Severus, dear, I don’t know about lust-filled. I am old.”

He gave her a look of irritation, “You’re not old, Molly.”

It was her turn to give him a look of irritation it seemed, as she shot him a glare that made him shudder a little. “I’ve had seven children, Severus. I’m a grandmum. I’m old.”

“Whatever. I’m not here to argue with you over that. So, when shall we go on our first…” he paused, motioning in the air with his hands before using finger-quotations, “date?”

“Hmmm. I didn’t think you’d agree to this, so I hadn’t thought that far, to be honest.” 

“Why would you ask if you didn’t think I’d agree?”

“Gryffindor idiocy?” She raised her hands in the air and shrugged half-heartedly.

“Mmmmm. Yes.” He chuckled a bit and she joined in. It was a nice moment, he thought, sharing a laugh with someone. 

“I am glad you did agree, though. Thank you. It’s doing me a big favour. I’m in no...well, I don’t care to date. It seems bloody dreadful.” 

He stood up, adjusting his coat. “How about this: I will come here tomorrow evening, say six. We can apparate to dinner in Diagon Alley. We’ll have some drinks. A nice dinner. Maybe dessert. I’ll kiss your cheek before we part from the restaurant. I’ll bring you home. Surely, in Diagon Alley, on a Saturday evening, someone will see us. Does that work for you?” 

Molly nodded, and he noted that she seemed, for the first time, nervous. 

He smiled softly at her, “It’ll be fine, Molly. I don’t bite. We’ve always got on well. This will work out nicely for me, too. Without it, I might have gotten drawn into some weird love-triangle with the Lupin’s, and, Merlin knows, I don’t want any part of that.” 

She stood up as well and stepped towards him, chuckling at his last statement. Before he knew what was happening, she was hugging him. It wasn’t a romantic sort of hug, no, not in the least. It was a much rarer type of hug for him—a hug of friendship, and, as she wrapped her arms around him, he let his arms slide around her shoulders and welcomed the embrace. She smelled of vanilla cake and Earl Grey tea, and it was all he could do to not ask if he could bottle her scent, as it was so bloody comforting. 

—

Molly settled into bed, Alfie purring on the pillow next to her.  _ I'm going on a date with Severus Snape _ , she thought a bit amused and shocked.  _ A fake date but a date.  _

She considered the man. For years she simply felt pity for him, during the Second War she wanted to mother him really, pull him out of the grasp of both Dumbledore and Voldemort, feed him and put him to bed for a long time. 

When Arthur was attacked, Severus had worked so hard to find an antivenin, and, by the time he had, it was simply too late. 

The night he came into St. Mungo's with the antivenin, he found Molly alone with Arthur— who was unconscious. It was the middle of the night, and he briefly explained that he was certain it would work this time and then quickly ran off to find a healer. 

The antivenin did nothing, and Arthur remained in his unconscious state. According to the healer, if he had figured it out just two days earlier, Arthur Weasley would have lived. 

The healer left Molly and Severus alone in a small visitors area, and, at that point, Molly was drained of all tears, her pain ran deeper than imaginable. She was surprised, however, when Severus began to cry. Tears fell silently down his face, and she wouldn't have known had she not looked at him and saw the streaks on his face, the redness of his cheeks and eyes, such a stark contrast to his black hair, black cloak, and pale skin. 

To her, it didn't matter that he was, as her youngest boy said, a git, or, as her other children said, a dungeon bat, he was a person, and he was crying; so Molly to do what Molly did best, she comforted him.

She sat next to him and put her arm around him, and at first, he was stiff as if it was painful to be given affection, and then he softened, letting her pull him against her. Finally, she heard him speak, muffled words pressed into her shoulder. "What was that?" she inquired. 

He pulled back, straightened up, attempting to compose himself—seeming ashamed of his show of emotion, "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry I failed you and your family. I never had a loving home. Your children did, and I couldn't save their father. Your husband. A good man. I… I wish it were me and not him. I'm so sorry, Molly." 

"Stop it," her voice was stern and fierce. She stared at him, "Did you do everything you could for my husband?"

He stared back and paused, swallowing hard, as if considering everything that he'd done over the past few weeks. Finally, he nodded and with a whisper said, "I did everything I could. I just wasn't fast enough." 

Again she shook her head, "Stop. I won't hear another word." And even though she was certain she was all cried out, she found that she wasn't after all and was relieved when he put his arm around her and let her weep against his shoulder. 

Now, thinking back to that evening, it was quite possibly the singular moment that led her to believe that Severus hadn't killed Dumbledore for Voldemort, that he had done it because he'd had to. During that time, she'd kept fairly quiet concerning it. Everything and everyone was so sensitive, so easily riled up. Deep down, though, she knew where his loyalties were. 

She was pleased that his name had been cleared after the war and that he was a free man. 

Thinking of him, in anticipation for their first "date", she felt a wave of gratitude, and, as the hours ticked on, a small sense of anticipation and nerves began to brew in her belly. 

—

Severus was, well, he was sort of excited. It seemed fun to go to dinner with someone, to talk about the potions he was working, to ask he questions about things she liked and so on. He wasn't nervous, not at all. He was looking forward to his evening with Molly. There was no pressure to actually woo her or impress her, no question as to whether or not he should kiss her or whether or not she liked him. They were just pretending. He was good at pretending. 

He dressed casually in black trousers and a white oxford and his cloak. Brushing his hair away from his face he apparated to The Burrow. 

In the back garden, he let his eyes look over everything, admiring her flowers and plants. Molly, he noted, had a green thumb. He wandered idly, as to give her the few extra minutes she probably needed. Distracted by some unusual flowers, he heard her open the door to the back of her house. 

"That's a hibiscus," he heard her say. 

"How did you manage—" he turned as he spoke and paused, a bit at a loss for words when he saw her. Molly was usually flustered, preoccupied, busy with everyone and everything, and he suddenly wasn't sure if he had never seen her dressed up or if he had just simply never  _ seen _ her. Alone that evening, he would determine it was the latter, that he’d never taken a moment to see Molly for who she was. 

She was wearing a black dress that cinched at the waist and had a dangerously low cut front for someone with her bosom. Severus felt the pit of his stomach do a weird flip at the sight of her cleavage, and then he quickly scolded himself. 

Her hair, which was still red but had many streams of a Slytherin silver throughout, was twisted up and pinned. He felt like he was suddenly seeing so much of her, and not because of how her dress and whatever brasserie she was wearing showed off her glorious chest, but because of her hair—pinned up and away from her face and neck and shoulders. 

She wore light makeup, and she hadn't done anything to glamour her wrinkles or freckles, and he found her so very beautiful. 

He never questioned Arthur's extreme love and fondness for his wife, but Severus found he was overwhelmed with how taken he was with her at this moment. 

He stammered and continued, "How did you manage to keep a hibiscus growing here?" 

She smirked and stepped towards him, "Just some good old fashioned charm work." She rested her hand on his arm, and he realized she clearly had no clue of the effect she was having on him. 

"Arthur gave me this plant when we first got married. They are often given as a gift to someone you find perfect."

Severus nodded, "It is a beautiful colour."

"You look nice," she said, patting his arm now, clearly moving away from the subject. 

"As do you," he said in a way that he hoped was void of too much enthusiasm. "Are you ready, then?"

Molly placed her hands in the pocket of her cloak and nodded, "Yes. Let's do this."

—

She noticed that he didn't seem even remotely nervous, and that made her feel a bit silly for her own nerves. Unsure of what to make of her feelings, she decided that they were simply due to the fact that the world was about to see her with someone that wasn't Arthur. That the world would see her out there dating.

To her delight, several people saw them out, which meant that, before she even got home, her children would know that she’d been on a date. 

Severus was cordial and pleasant and enjoyable to talk to, and as their evening ended, he leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. His lips were cool, but they left a warmness that seemed to last long after they’d parted. 

By the time she got home and out of the bath and settled for bed, she had messages from five of her seven children, owls waiting impatiently for her. She chuckled in the delight of her own deception. 

After replying to them, there was one owl waiting for her, one she didn’t recognize; it carried a note from Severus once again telling her that he had enjoyed himself and asking her to join him for dinner in a few days. Molly found herself elated with how things were unravelling and she had begun to look forward to the next several weeks. 

—

As Molly dressed for the Valentine's Day party, she considered the past six weeks with Severus. He had endured much for her—dinner with Ginny and Harry, dinner with just Bill, dinner with all seven of her children, dinner with Remus and Tonks. It seemed that once people became aware of them as a couple, everyone was interested, everyone wanted to know and see the two of them together. 

Not once had they been required to do something that might make the other uncomfortable, she'd even explained to Severus that he didn't have to have dinner with her or come to any event that he didn't want to, but, even when he had to share a table with her daughter and The Chosen One, he didn't seem to mind. 

They also hadn't been put into any uncomfortable positions physically. Molly assumed this was due to how private everyone knew Severus to be, and, by proxy, Molly as well. She found herself to be relieved over this. She hadn't kissed anyone in four years, and she hadn't kissed anyone except for Arthur since she was sixteen. Honestly, she didn't know how to kiss someone. 

The oddest part of it was how her children seemed to believe they saw a change in her—happiness, a sense of lightness that she hadn’t had in years. Perhaps, she thought, it was just having a companion, having a friendship with someone that wasn’t one of her children, that wasn’t a daughter-in-law, that wasn’t in any way someone who might ask something of her. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to nurture and provide, but it was very nice to, for the first time in a very long time, have a relationship with someone who didn’t need anything from her other than her presence. 

She also found that she was sad to know that their fake-relationship would be ending soon. That they’d go back to their prior lives. While she was certain Severus would be pleased to go back to whatever it was he did or whatever it was he intended to do, part of her knew that she was going to miss him. 

Molly charmed her hair, naturally thick and wavy, into a twisted knot at the nape of her neck, some hairs askew and free, and she decided to have some fun with her dress. 

She wasn’t sure when she’d be going out again or if she’d have the nerve to dress the way she currently felt inclined to. If she were being honest, she wanted Severus to miss her, and she wanted him to…  _ want _ her, she thought. It seemed that part of her couldn’t help but long to feel desirable again. 

For her entire life, she was desired and wanted by Arthur, and there were years where she worried that his affections were that of obligation, of a man who was so happy with his life that he wouldn’t think twice about desiring his wife regardless of how her body had changed. So, to feel this way, to want to be desired was new and unusual and unnerving. 

She slipped into a red dress, shimmery with glitter, form-fitting with thin straps and a heart-shaped cut, revealing a hefty amount of cleavage. Running her hands down her body, she sighed and realized that while she was showing a lot of skin and while she was not categorically fit or young, she looked and felt good. Who cared if she was showing skin? It didn’t matter. She didn’t care. Straightening her posture in the mirror, she slipped into heels, grabbed her cloak and apparated to meet Severus at his place, quite a bit earlier than they had planned. 

—

He had been dressed for a while; he was eager and impatient and had managed to get himself ready for the event far too early, which left him sitting in his office scribbling notes about various potions. 

He turned his head and glanced out into the living room of his flat. There were all sorts of pillows and small oddities that Molly had procured over the past several weeks. The first time she set foot in his flat she was complimentary of how neat and clean it was, but she gave him a hard time over how sterile it felt. He chuckled thinking back to that moment.

“Molly…” his voice low in his usual drawl, “are you saying my house is too clean?”

She huffed, “No! It’s just...I feel like I’m in a healer’s office. Where is the proof that you even live here?”

He looked around the room and shrugged, “My things?”

Rolling her eyes she responded, “Right, but there are no books on the table. No pillows you lie on when on the couch. No coasters where you keep your tea. No… nothing! I know you have a personality, Severus. Where is it?” 

Again he shrugged, “Merlin. I don’t know. Does it matter?" 

She flicked her wand, transfiguring some things, manoeuvring others around. A few lovely dark pillows, a soft-looking throw, a few tobacco candles, a pile of potions books here, a pile of Muggle literature there. Suddenly, his sparsely decorated flat looked like him—it looks like a home.

And so now when he walked into his home, he felt similar to how he did when he had hugged Molly. Warm. Comforted. However, now, looking into his living room, he felt a tinge of sadness. This was their big event and then they would wind down. Letting their relationship— _ Fake relationship _ , he corrected himself, fade into nothing. 

He didn’t want to admit it but he was going to miss her. He didn’t exactly want to go back to his lonely existence—sure it had its advantages, but it was nice to have someone to talk to, to share moments with, to look forward to seeing and hearing from. 

While Molly always seemed enthused and happy to see him, he knew that she was acting—putting on a performance. He was certain that she would be relieved to be done with this charade. 

And so, although he was excited for tonight, to see her—to see Molly dressed up, carefree, to get to have her on his arm, to get to play the doting boyfriend, to perhaps wrap his arm around her waist, to have her lean into him, to breathe her in, he was also sad.

As he scribbled notes down, he heard a knock at his door. Glancing at the time, she was early, and he was relieved by this. He was tired of not seeing her. This thought made him pause, and he wondered then how he had somehow gotten tangled up in this scheme of theirs emotionally.

Stealing a glance of himself in the mirror, he examined his reflection. He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, a few shorter strands framing his face. For the evening, he broke out of his traditional dress and wore a corduroy tuxedo—the jacket with a shawl collar, and pants that were slim and fit him nicely. He wore a traditional white oxford, but forgoed a bow tie or tie, leaving the top few buttons undone. He thought that, while he was not handsome, he did look striking, and he felt pleased with this, hoping she would think the same, an unusual thought to have, to want to please someone with his appearance.

Opening the door for her, he found that he momentarily had forgotten to breathe. She had taken off her coat, and it was hanging over her arms, which were crossed underneath her chest. 

The shimmer of the dress, bright against the dark colour of her cloak, her arms pushing beneath her breasts, drawing his eyes almost instantly to them, which he quickly differed within the time span of a heartbeat, letting his eyes linger to the curve of her neck, the subtle dip of creamy collar bones, and to her face, shining and warm and breathtaking. He found it unfair that someone who was so wholesome could also be so stunning. 

“Are you going to let me in?” she inquired, and he realized that he must have been staring for longer than he intended.

Moving to let her inside, he couldn’t help but watch her moving inside his home. She turned and smiled, “Look at you, Severus, you’ve got candles lit.”

He chuckled, “I suppose you weren’t wrong about candles. They are… nice.”

She smiled in agreeance and then said, “I’m sorry I got here early. I wasn’t sure what else to do with myself.”

He nodded, a bit at a loss for words. 

“Are you okay?” she inquired.

“Yes. I was working on…”

“Damn. I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“No. No. I’m glad you’re here. Would you like something to drink? We have some time to kill before our big date. I have some wine.”

She nodded, fidgeting a bit, “That’d be lovely. Thank you.” 

Pouring wine for the pair of them he urged himself to stop feeling so nervous. He told himself that he was being stupid. Molly Fucking Weasley didn’t want anything from him, nothing beyond their fake-relationship.

As they sat on his couch, drinking wine, it was silent, as if they’d come this far and now weren’t sure how to proceed, or as if they’d both been caught in an uncomfortable situation. 

Severus was torn between figuring out why she had gotten here early—was she anxious to be done with it, ready to be seen with him at a large party, filled with publicity, ready to begin the descent back to their single-lives? Probably so, but part of him wanted to think that she was here early for the same reason that he had been ready early, that she was anxious to see him, to be near him. 

He rechecked the time; they still had an hour until the party began. Severus had no idea how they were going to fill an hour, despite the fact that they’d filled so many hours in the past several weeks. Something was off, he knew he was partly to blame for that, but it felt far different than before. 

Finally, Molly spoke, “Honestly, I’m… I’m a bit sad about our arrangement ending soon.” She brought the wine glass to her mouth and took a small sip.

He let his arm rest casually on the back of his sofa and leaned forward some, “Why is that?”

She sighed and smiled, “Must you ask?”

He smirked, a small grin on his lips. “I suppose…” his voice silky and smooth and pulling out each word like a thick molasses, “I could use legilimency.”

A soft flush bloomed on her chest and she shook her head, “Goodness, no.” 

“Then why?” he pressed.

“Let me ask you something, first,” she let her arm rest in a similar fashion to his, their fingers were only inches apart. “How do you feel about the ending of our charade? Are you ready to be rid of me?”

He looked down at this glass, letting the moment hang between them, not wanting to seem too eager to respond, before looking back up at her, their eyes meeting, “No.” His answer was short and clipped, but he hoped it conveyed enough. 

***

Molly felt her heartbeat quicken at his response. He had said no.  _ No _ . No, he wasn't ready to be rid of her. 

His voice pulled her from her thoughts, “Now, answer me. Why are you sad?”

She sighed, knowing she had to answer him, knowing she had to be forthright and honest, even if it hurt to do so. Crafting her words so they did not reveal too much she said, “I like spending time with you.” 

He nodded, “Yes. Well, that can continue. Can it not?” 

“Even after we break-up?” she cocked her head to the side, taking a sip of her drink and looking at him out of the corner of her eye. 

Shutting her eyes for a moment as she took a long sip from the wine, she felt his weight move on the couch, and she opened her eyes to see he had moved closer to her, his leg now pressed against hers. Turning her head so she was facing him, she found that they were much closer perhaps than they’d been this entire time, aside from a hug here and there. This was intimate. This was personal. The air was thick with it. 

He had sat his wine glass down, and with his right hand, he let his fingers, lithe and calloused in certain spots, trace the curve of her ear. He spoke with a caution that she could hear it in his tone, “We don’t have to break up. No one has to know this was fake.”

Her eyes searched his face, and she thought back to the past several times they’d been together—cooking dinner in the kitchen, them playfully arguing over the best way to mince garlic; him showing her a more effective way to degnome her garden when one had managed to tear her shirt to shreds, revealing her forest green bra beneath her jumper, how he had laughed in a way that wasn't cruel but was affectionate as he repaired the rips; the night when he had had far too much firewhiskey and took her hands in his and whispered an apology for Arthur again, and she had pushed him away, angry, not at the memory of her late husband, not at his inability to save him, but at him for still feeling such guilt. When she admonished him for this he shook his head and said, “I can’t bear the thought of having hurt you, not even back then, long before now…" and he had then turned to go home. 

Now, she looked at him, really looked at him and said, “ _ Wa _ s fake. You said it _ was. _ Not that it  _ is _ .” 

She watched as his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed before speaking, “I don’t think, Molly, and forgive me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think it’s been fake for a little while now. At least, not for me.” 

Leaning into him she shook her head, “No. I don’t think so either.” She pressed her face against his, their cheeks touching. His skin was cool and soft, she could feel a slight prickle of stubble forming and she sighed with a sense of relief. 

Nudging her cheek with his nose, she pulled back just enough to look at him, and to hear him whisper an admission, “I haven’t kissed anyone in a very long time, but I’d like to kiss you.” 

Molly shut her eyes and pressed her lips to his cheekbone, whispering against his skin, “I’d like you to as well.” 

She was scared to open her eyes, to look at him, to be faced with kissing someone that wasn’t her dead husband, to be faced with the fear of all this not being real, of all this perhaps being some joke to him, and then she felt his lips on hers. 

It wasn’t how she remembered kissing. 

For so long, kissing had been like writing a letter; instinctively, you knew when to move your hand upwards, when to curve into a new word, when to lift up off from the page. This was learning to write all over again, hesitant but exciting. 

His lips were tender against hers, barely pressing against her own. Suddenly, heat filled her chest and trickled down into her belly, and she pressed into him, letting her hands explore his body. At first resting then on his shoulders, then resting on his thighs, then one in his hair and the other on his chest. He kept his hands still—one on the back of the sofa, the other resting gingerly on her waist. 

Molly opened her mouth desperately for him, her lips parting, letting her tongue glide over his bottom lip. After some time, he gripped onto her waist, and let his other hand fall to her cheek, cupping her face. She found that the heat in her belly had pooled over and spilt down to between her thighs, friction and anxiety forming. When he nibbled on her bottom lip, she mewed and found herself desperate to touch him everywhere, to straddle him on this couch and make him hers, to be beneath him on his bed, to have his mouth between her thighs. 

—

Several weeks ago, he would have laughed in someone’s face if they had told them that he would make Molly Weasley moan or that he would bury his face in her chest while she straddled him, fully clothed, grinding against one another like teenagers, but here he was, snogging her on his couch, her dress hiked up, the erection beneath his tented trousers grinding against her. 

He pulled away from her, from her lips and tongue against his neck, and said breathlessly, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but we need to leave soon.” 

“Bollocks,” she replied. “We can be late.”

“How late do you want to be?” He inquired with curious interest. 

“I want you to make love to me before we go. I need you to, I think. If you...if you want to…” Suddenly, she seemed insecure, as if being pulled from her reverie forced her to recall any concerns she had. 

He reached up and grabbed her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him. “I want to. I more than want to. If that’s what you want. If it is, get off of me and get your arse to my bedroom. I’m not having you for the first time on the couch.” 

“This is a nice position though,” she smiled cheekily.

He laughed, his hands on her hips, and pressed his erection up against her, “It is. Later, then?”

Giggling, she nodded and got up, moving to the bedroom.

Molly slid off her undergarments and laid down on the bed, when he shook his head, “You’re going to stay in your dress?”

She nodded, “Yes, Severus. I’ve had seven children, six pregnancies. I'm fifty! My body is not…”

Unbuttoning his shirt, he nodded, “If you want to wear it, I understand, but, please, know I think you’re beautiful, and I want to see your body and ravish you and please you, but...my main concern is for you to be comfortable.”

In just his pants, he climbed up next to her and began to kiss her again, letting his mouth find the sweet spot she liked on below her ear. He murmured, “Permission to ravish you?”

She nodded and huffed out, “Yes!” He let his hand trail to her thighs, pushing the material of her dress up a bit more, letting his fingers slide along the length of her centre. Her breath hitched, and he gently slipped one of his fingers inside her, letting his thumb press against her clit. 

—

While Molly appreciated his gentleness, she needed more from him and pulled his mouth to hers before saying, “I’m not a flower, Severus. Don’t be so gentle.”

He laughed against her lips and quickly added another finger, thrusting them quickly and roughly into her. She felt the familiar tightness in her abdomen, and let him work her until she unravelled, coming on his hand. 

Her orgasm was almost suffocating but incredibly empowering, and as he went to move between her legs, his cheek pressed to her thigh, she quickly moved and vanished her dress and bra. She suddenly felt sexy and wanted and realized she didn’t give a fuck. 

He clearly wanted her, and if he wanted her, then he wanted all of her—every stretch mark, every dimple, every roll of fat, and as she sat on his bed, propped up on her knees, naked before him, and it was evident how much he did want her. 

Almost lunging at her, he slid beneath where she was positioned and sucked her clit into his mouth. For a moment, Molly wanted to laugh at the situation, laugh that she was sitting on Severus Snape’s face, but she quickly dissolved into throaty moans, his hands coming to her hips and her grinding against him, riding his face. 

Despite the fact that she’d just orgasmed, she felt as if she could go again, but she also didn’t want to, she wanted to ride his face, his tongue fucking the inside of her, feeling the build-up of an orgasm all night.

Her thighs quivered as she came again and collapsed next to him. He kissed her legs, kissed her belly, kissed her chest, sucked and bit her nipples, and steadied himself above her. 

She pressed up and kissed him, tasting her on his tongue and lips. He met her eyes questioningly, and she could feel his erection resting at her centre. She wrapped a leg around his waist, pressing him closer to her and she said, “Please. Please. Please.” 

Quite quickly he thrust his hips towards her and entered her, filling her, and it felt so good—so real and raw and warm that she could have cried.

—

Above her, pushing into her, feeling her legs around his waist, it took all he had to not completely come undone within minutes, but he somehow kept it together for longer than he thought. He didn’t make her come again, but when he came she sweetly kissed his neck and his cheeks and then his mouth. 

He lied next to her for a few moments, in dismay of what had just occurred between them, when she flicked her wand to fix her dishevelled state, summoning their clothes, “Not to rush, Severus, but we do have a party to attend.” 

He nodded, letting out a deep breath, “Yes. Of course. I’ve been looking forward to showing off my partner for a while now.” 

She smiled widely at him, and the two quickly got ready to go. 

As they stepped into his living room, she gestured to the couch, “We’re making good on shagging on your couch when we get back.” Her tone was commanding and sultry and everything Severus wanted to hear. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, “Absolutely. One hundred per cent.” 

  
  
  



End file.
